


My Post

by Amynion



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Aramis, Hurt/Comfort, Savoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-27 08:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15681915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amynion/pseuds/Amynion
Summary: Treville's orders are not the easiest to carry out.But Porthos will not desert his post.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because Savoy is the gift that keeps on giving, and Radical Face are a neverending source of inspiration. 
> 
> The quote is from their song "Rivers In The Dust". The moment I heard those words this came to me (and distracted me from a WIP that had distracted me from a WIP that was distracting me from another WIP... hopefully I'll manage to get something else finished)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1DOEPoRxFg

_And I am not the one you wanted here  
But I will fill my post _

_Heaven's touch is often out of reach  
To those who want it most _

  
The Captain seemed to have aged ten years since Porthos had seen him last. He withered into his chair with slightly glazed eyes. They darted about a moment, as if searching for something he knew he wouldn’t find. It left Porthos on edge. He had not been in the regiment for long, but it was long enough to see the rod of iron that ran through Treville’s back. The Captain was always in control. _Always_.

Of course, the reason for this strange change in demeanour was obvious. Not one man within the garrison was himself. Not since word returned of twenty dead musketeers in Savoy. No one could remain unaffected in the face of such devastation. Still, Porthos had been commissioned for only a short while. He felt the loss, but he almost felt as if he was not allowed to feel it. He had not had the time to forge such deep bonds of brotherhood as the others. It left him something of an outsider. That was a feeling he was intimately acquainted with at least.

Treville’s eyes seemed to stare straight through Porthos. He had yet to say a word.

Porthos cleared his throat. It was too loud in the quiet. An intrusion.

“You asked to see me sir?”

“Yes.” The word felt like it had to be dredged from somewhere deep within. Treville ran a tired hand over his face before continuing. “The survivor, Aramis. I would like you to care for him.”

“Me sir? Wouldn’t he rather have someone he knows a little better?”

“Those he knows a little better are dead or lost in the depths of their own grief. I do not suggest they would not do their duty in seeing him well again, but I do not think it would benefit either party. Besides, I rather think he took a shine to you Porthos.”

“Doesn’t he take a shine to everybody?”

Treville almost seemed as if he were about to smile. “Something like that. Still, I think he’d appreciate your company more than most. I saw the beginnings of something promising between you. Almost like…”

Treville cut himself off and hesitated.

Porthos saved him and stepped in. “Then I will do as you’ve asked. Might I ask what injuries he has suffered?”

“Thank you, Porthos.”

Porthos felt he didn’t need to be thanked for agreeing to carry out his orders. But it almost seemed as if Treville was thanking him for more than that.

“He is battered and bruised, but the worst of it is an injury to his head. The physician has seen to it and left something for the pain, but he has yet to fully come to his senses. Just… take care of his needs. Be there for him.”

There seemed to be an unspoken _for I cannot_ at the end of that sentence. The reluctance in Treville’s eyes gave it away.

“I’ll do my best for him.”

“And I would expect nothing less. You’ll find him in his quarters. We thought it more peaceful than the infirmary.”

**~oOo~**

Porthos made his way to Aramis’ room once he was dismissed. He gave a quiet knock at the door. There was no reply. He knocked again and listened closely with an ear against the wood.

Nothing.

Porthos cautiously tried the handle and found the door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was in a sort of half light, with ratty drapes doing their best to conceal the sunlight coming through the window. Aramis lay on the bed, curled up with his back to Porthos. He hadn’t moved a muscle. There was a chair by the bed, Porthos crept over to it as if he were afraid of waking a sleeping baby. He lowered himself down gently and cast an eye over the bottles on the bedside table. He couldn’t say he was familiar with the concoctions listed on the labels, physicians generally weren’t available to those in the court. Only one occasion came to mind. A kindly old lady who had looked out for Porthos sickened. They tried what remedies they could, but she only got worse. She ended up in such pain they could not stand her suffering. Porthos held her hand while hushed discussions happened between the adults across the room. Words became heated and died away again. A few days later Porthos was pulled away from her bedside, a doctor had come, and he was sure to make everything better. The last thing he saw was a few tinctures being pulled from a worn bag. The doctor left, and then people with tear stained faces came out some time after. She was gone. And Porthos harboured a suspicion of physicians ever after. He was coming to trust a little more since becoming a soldier. More than once he had seen physicians save men from their battlefield wounds. Still enough men passed after receiving ministrations for his suspicion to remain.

A moan came from the bundle of sheets. It broke Porthos from his thoughts, he sat forwards and waited for Aramis to roll over. As he did Aramis moaned again and made to throw an arm over his eyes. Porthos caught it, fearing he would disturb the bandage wrapped about his head. With a distressed whine Aramis pulled away as if Porthos had scorched him with a hot iron.

“Hush, hush, it’s alright. You’re at the garrison. You’re safe.”

Aramis blinked heavily and squinted even against the weak light of the room.

“Aramis?”

“Hurts.”

“I know.” Porthos eyed the bottles and wondered. “Sleep a little more and you’ll feel better.”

“Hurts, Marsac.”

“It’s Porthos.”

But Aramis’ eyes had already closed.

“I’m Porthos.”

**~oOo~**

The next time Aramis woke he was a little more aware. His awakening was accompanied by the same moans and clumsy attempt to cover his face.

Porthos just blocked his hand for now.

“You don’t want to do that, you’ve got a head wound.”

Aramis’ hand dropped to the bedcovers.

“Marsac?”

“Porthos.”

“Where is Marsac?”

“Not here.” And a deserter by all accounts. Not that he was going to tell Aramis that right now. “Will you take a drink of water? You sound like you’ve been wandering the desert for months.”

Aramis gave a shaky nod and Porthos helped him to a few sips.

“How is your head?”

“Hurts.” He sounded so tired.

Porthos eyed the tinctures again and sighed. “There is something here for the pain, if you want it.”

Aramis frowned for a moment before he said yes.

“What’s the matter?”

“I feel there’s something I’m forgetting… Just out of reach.”

Porthos offered a sip from the physician’s bottle. “Don’t worry about it now, just sleep.”

Aramis lay back again and his eyes began to flutter as the tincture took hold.

“Send Marsac up, when he’s back…”

Porthos hesitated and let the silence answer.

**~oOo~**

As night drew in and Aramis was sleeping peacefully, Porthos took his leave to return to his vigil the next morning. Daylight filtered through the ragged drapes and threw Aramis’ pale face into stark relief. If it were not for the slight rise and fall of his chest Porthos would think him dead. And maybe it would be kinder if he were. Porthos shook his head and banished the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. Aramis was the lone survivor, he was a miracle. But he would also be cursed as soon as he remembered what happened in that snow touched forest. Porthos had seen men who had seen too much of war. He had seen their senses desert them. Guns fixed on self slaughter. It never ended well.

Sooner or later Aramis would remember. Whether his fractured mind put it all back together, or Porthos told him. Porthos wasn’t sure he could.

Suddenly Aramis gasped, it was the desperate sound of a drowning man pulled out of the water. His hand flew up and Porthos caught it. The flailing limb was gently returned to the bedcovers and Porthos leaned forwards to examine Aramis’ tortured eyes.

“Aramis? What is it?”

“I don’t know. My head hurts and I don’t know why.” He sounded frustrated. “But there was something… something at the edge. Ravens?”

“Give it time.”

Aramis looked over to the covered window and squinted. The sun shone like a razor blade to his wounded head it seemed.

“What happened Porthos?”

Porthos’ throat worked as his mind frantically searched for an answer. He was saved by a knock at the door.

The physician poked his head in and smiled at seeing Aramis awake and alert. Porthos took the opportunity to duck out and speak to Treville.

He found the Captain in his office, that haunted look still coloured his features.

“How is he?”

“The physician’s checking him over.” Porthos paused for thought and took in a deep breath before continuing. “Sir, he doesn’t remember what happened. He’s going to ask, he already has. Do I tell him?”

“What do you think?”

“With all due respect Sir, I don’t know him.”

“You know him better than you think.”

“I would not have him remember at all. I would spare him the grief.”

“He can’t be spared. It’s part of him now.” Treville got up from his seat and went to pour them a drink. “It’s a part of us, our regiment, our history. A black stain, _here_ …”

Treville held a tight fist against his heart. Anger lit up his eyes, directed at something or someone unseen. But he let it go, his hand loosened and returned to the bottle. Treville motioned Porthos to a chair and put a drink in front of it.

“There is nothing you could have done, Sir. They were miles away, you could not have foreseen they would be attacked.”

Treville seemed momentarily lost in his head. Porthos wasn’t sure he was listening.

Porthos tried again. “It was a training mission. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

The corners of Treville’s mouth curled distastefully. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” He repeated and knocked back his drink.

Porthos took a sip of his own.

“But it did happen. And I will spend every day hereafter wondering what I could have done to stop it.”

“Nothing, Sir. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Powerless. Is that what I was? No, we all have choices. I made the wrong ones.”

“And if you were to send them out on a different day, who is to say they would not still be attacked? They could have marched across a broken bridge and drowned. We deal with danger and chance every day of our lives. One stray spark from a fire could burn down the whole of Paris, but you cannot blame the man who innocently stokes it.”

“The fires I deal with could burn down the whole damn country.”

“Then you must be particularly careful in dealing with them.”

Treville gave a bitter smile. “I have not been careful enough.”

Porthos finished off the last of his drink and got up from his chair. He had the uncomfortable feeling he was trying to comfort somebody who would not be comforted.

“Forgive me, Sir. I must get back.”

That seemed to remind Treville of the reason for Porthos’ visit. “I’m sorry, I have not been much help where Aramis is concerned. In truth I do not know what will be better for him. He’s going to suffer regardless.”

“Then I will do what I can.”

**~oOo~**

Porthos stopped by the kitchen to pick up some broth for Aramis. He found the man sitting propped up in his bed. He looked a little more awake, but still seemed washed out and sickly. No doubt some food would help with that.

“What did the physician say?”

“The wound is healing well. There is no sign of it festering.”

“Good. Do you think you can manage some broth?”

Aramis seemed a little doubtful as he eyed the soup, but he gave a careful nod. “I will try.”

Porthos sat the bowl in Aramis’ lap and watched warily as the proffered spoon shook in his hand. 

“Would you like me to…?”

“I can manage.”

And he did. It was slow going but Aramis steadily made his way through the bowl. He paused halfway through as if he needed a rest from the exertion of eating.

“Where is Marsac?”

“Not here.” Porthos gave the same reply as he had before.

“Is he on guard duty?”

“No.”

“Away on a mission?”

“Something like that.”

“Ah, is it a mission of stealth? Are we not permitted to speak of it?”

Porthos gave a tight smile.

“I thought as much. Well, I’m sure he’ll be back to regale me with tales of his heroics. He always seems to take particular joy in it when I’m bedridden. I wonder if he thinks envy will spur me from my sickbed.”

“Are you going to finish that?” Porthos tactically turned his attention back to the broth.

Aramis took another couple of mouthfuls before he fixed a serious eye on Porthos. “What happened? How was I injured?”

Porthos hesitated. But then he made up his mind. Aramis had to know sooner or later, and he was going to keep asking. Spinning a tangled web of lies was hardly going to help matters.

“You were hit on the head, I can’t say how it happened exactly as I wasn’t there. All I know is that you were fighting…” Porthos internally cursed himself, he really didn’t know how to go about breaking this news. He supposed he should start at the beginning. “There was a training exercise you went on…”

The spoon loudly clattered against the bowl as Aramis dropped it to put a hand against his head. He grimaced and grit his teeth against the pain.

“Here, drink this.”

Porthos offered some of the physician's tincture. Then he took the bowl from Aramis’ lap and settled him back down in bed.

“We will speak of this later. Sleep now.”

“Send Marsac up, when he’s back, send him up…” Aramis managed as he drifted away.

Porthos sat back with a sigh.

As it happened there was no later. Aramis slept fitfully and woke in pain several times. Porthos simply plied him with tincture and he slept again. Night drew in and Porthos got to his feet.

Tomorrow. He would tell Aramis the truth tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Porthos let himself in to Aramis’ room without knocking. He was surprised to find the bed empty. For a moment his mind reeled, wondering where Aramis had gone, how far he could have gotten, and what drove him from his bed.

But it didn’t take long to find Aramis. Once Porthos rounded the bed, there he was, sitting shivering on the floor with his knees drawn up, tangled in sheets. His eyes were wide. They locked on to Porthos the moment he stepped into view.

“What are you doing down there?”

“I don’t know.” Came Aramis’ hollow answer. “I was cold. I had to get away. There were ravens calling, and I was alone… but not alone. That’s all I remember.”

“Let’s get you back in bed.” Porthos reached down to help Aramis’ clumsy hands unravel the sheets.

Once Aramis was settled again he lay back and looked as if he was about to drift off to sleep.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“I’m so tired, Porthos.”

“It’s morning, time for breakfast. You should really eat something.”

“Let me sleep a while…” Aramis closed his eyes, but before sleep took him he managed a question. “Is Marsac back yet?”

Porthos pretended not to hear. “I’ll go and see what Serge’s got, ready for when you wake.”

He ran away and cursed himself for doing so.

The rest of the day was spent with Aramis sleeping on and off. His sleep did not seem at all restful. He tossed and turned, often waking on a gasp. On one occasion he shot bolt upright, hands flailing as if fending off an unseen foe. It took Porthos a while to calm him down. Aramis was all harsh gasps, clutching grasps, wrecked sobs and moans. Eventually he calmed with a little help from the tincture. It tore at Porthos’ heart. Clearly Aramis’ mind was bringing Savoy back to him piece by horrific piece. But he hadn’t been with it enough for Porthos to explain. He just couldn’t bring himself to shatter Aramis even more when he sat beside the man listening to his shuddered breaths. He gave what comfort he could. A simple hand over the fist wound tightly in his shirt was all Porthos could offer. There were no words.

When night came Porthos brought in a bedroll. He couldn’t leave Aramis with the state he was in. He didn’t want to find Aramis shaking on the floor again. Even if Porthos got no sleep himself, he was determined to wake Aramis from his every nightmare.

True enough Porthos was dragged from sleep by Aramis’ strangled cries. Time and again he hushed him back to sleep. Neither got more than an hour or two before their sleep was disturbed. Aramis often called out for Marsac. He begged his friend not to go. Eventually Porthos resorted to whispering _I’m here, I’m here_ … He wasn’t Marsac, but Aramis’ addled mind couldn’t tell the difference. It was nearing dawn when Aramis shot an arm out and Porthos was there to catch it.

“Don’t let them get me!” Aramis cried.

His eyes were open, but Porthos knew he was seeing something else.

“I won’t. You’re safe.”

“I can’t keep them away.” He whined. “I tried… I tried but they keep coming back. Don’t let them get me.”

“I’ll keep them away from you.” Porthos squeezed Aramis’ arms, hoping a warm touch would bring him out of it.

“I won’t be able to watch without my eyes.” Aramis shuddered and slumped back. His voice trailed away. “Can’t watch... need to watch. The watch, they were the first to go. So quiet. No alarm… raise the alarm…”

Aramis let go and Porthos tucked him back in.

He was remembering more and more. Porthos would have to tell him.

**~oOo~**

The sun shifted in just the right way to glare across Porthos’ face. He scowled at the offending hole in the drapes and sat up.

Aramis looked to be resting peacefully for once, and so he left in search of some food for them both. He ate with the others and saved a portion for Aramis.

The man was sitting bolt upright in bed when Porthos pushed his way in.

“Where’s Marsac?”

“He’s-”

“Where’s Bescond?” Aramis cut him off. “Where’s Houdin? Where’s Durel?”

Each name was spat and struck Porthos like a knife. He could only open his mouth as if in hope the right words would spring forth of their own accord.

“Where are they Porthos?”

Silence. Porthos turned his eyes to the floor.

“What of Michaut? Petit? Niel?”

Porthos looked up and offered nothing more than a sorrowful stare.

“Where are they Porthos? Tell me!” Aramis yelled.

Porthos put the food down on the bedside table and came to sit on Aramis’ bed. “You know where they are.”

“Tell me. I need to hear it.” He reached a hand out to Porthos’ sleeve. “If you can’t tell me it might just be a terrible dream. They’re all training outside aren’t they? I can hear the clash of swords, it must be them.”

“It’s not.” Porthos locked his eyes on Aramis’. “You know it’s not.”

“Then tell me where they are.” Aramis’ gaze was full of desperation. “ _Please._ ”

And with that one word Porthos crumbled.

“They’re dead.” He reached for Aramis’ shaking hand. “They were killed in Savoy. That’s how you came to be wounded. It was meant to be a training exercise. Nobody knows why you were attacked, nobody knows… I’m sorry, Aramis. I’m so sorry.”

Aramis’ eyes never strayed. He stared as if in shock. Then slowly he blinked and let a tear fall. “I remember.”

“You came back to us. You alone. Hold on to that. You were meant to be here.”

“No… not alone.”

“Marsac? He’s missing.” Porthos frowned.

“He’s coming back.”

“Aramis, I don’t think…”

“He wouldn’t just leave me. He’s coming back.” Aramis spoke with a sudden harshness.

“They found his pauldron. They say-”

Aramis whipped his hand from Porthos grip. “I would like to be alone now. If you would be so kind as to hand me my rosary before you go.” He motioned at the draw beside him.

Porthos sighed at the manner of his dismissal, but he dug through the bedside drawer to pull out the rosary and dropped it in Aramis’ palm as asked.

“Send for me if you need me.”

“I won’t.”

Porthos paused at the door with his back to Aramis. He wondered whether to say something in response, but thought better of it and closed the door quietly behind him.

**~oOo~**

Porthos returned to Aramis’ room several times afterwards. He paused outside and listened, never daring to stray inside. At first he heard quiet prayers, and the odd stilted sob. The prayers became more frantic, more angry. And then finally there was silence. That concerned Porthos most of all. He dared to peep around the door and found Aramis fast asleep. He softly made his way to Aramis’ side, suddenly worried. Sleep and death looked too alike from the doorway. On drawing closer Porthos dared to breathe again when he saw the slight rise and fall of Aramis’ chest. At this distance he also noted the half empty bottle of tincture and couldn’t help but scowl.

When he looked back at Aramis he saw half lidded eyes. They blinked heavily and closed.

“Go away.” Aramis’ voice was faint and slurred. “I don’t want you. I want Marsac.”

Porthos gave a hard nod and took his leave.

The days that followed took a similar path. Porthos kept vigil by the door, Aramis might not want him, but he would not leave. Not like Marsac. He collared the stable boy to take in food. Nobody else came to visit, not even Treville. And maybe that was for the best. Aramis’ desperate prayers and tears were not to be witnessed. Even Porthos felt guilty listening at the door. Still, he wouldn’t be outside if only Aramis would let him in. Everything in him screamed to reach out, but he had heard it from Aramis’ own lips… _Go away_ … he was shunned again. As was his lot in life. Aramis didn’t need him, apparently. But Porthos just couldn’t bring himself to leave. Did Aramis even know he was out here? Surely the occasional creak of the floorboards gave him away? But Aramis was likely beyond noticing such things.

It was the tail end of a particularly warm day when Porthos dozed off. He had brought a chair to sit on, everything had been quiet for a while. Porthos brought a book too, it slipped from his fingers and dropped to his chest when he told himself he was going to close his eyes just for a moment. They flew open again when he heard a scream.

Porthos shot to his feet and the book dropped, forgotten, to the floor. Aramis was screaming as if he were being tortured by the devil himself. Porthos wasn’t going to stand by and listen to this. He rushed into Aramis’ room and found the man wide eyed and gasping. He fumbled for the tincture, but Porthos got his hands around it first.

“No! You don’t want that!” He had a strong suspicion it was the only reason Aramis had been so quiet.

“I need it!” Aramis yelled and clawed at Porthos.

“It’s not helping!”

“I want to forget! I can’t… I can’t…” He was breathing hard and struggling. “For the love of God, let me have it!”

Porthos finally pulled free and threw the bottle behind him. It shattered against the wall.

For a moment they sat in stunned silence.

And then it was broken by Aramis.

“GET OUT!” His voice was full of vitriol. “I want Marsac! I never wanted you here, I never asked for your help! Marsac should be here, NOT YOU!”

“But he isn’t!” Something snapped in Porthos. He was done with this. “He left you alone in that forest! He isn’t coming back!”

“GET OUT!” Aramis yelled again and pointed a vicious finger at the door.

“NO!” Porthos bellowed back. Then his voice softened. “No. I won’t.”

The anger seemed to drain away. They were left hollow and panting in its wake.

“You never asked for my help, but here I am giving it.”

Aramis watched with shining eyes.

In the face of his silence Porthos spoke again. “I know I’m not the one you wanted here, but I’m not leaving you. I won’t. And nothing you say will make me.”

Aramis swallowed hard. His tears fell. It was like the breaking of a long faltering dam. “Why would God take them all and leave me?”

“You were not left. You were saved.”

“But why me? What did I do to deserve _any_ of this?”

“I don’t know, Aramis. You’re asking me to answer for God, and no man can do that.”

“I asked him. Over and over I asked him. And there was no answer. I began to wonder if he was there to answer. So I asked him for a sign, not even an angel, just the slightest of touches to let me know… There’s nothing, Porthos.” His breath shuddered as he paused to gather himself. “I was lying there amongst twenty of our dead brothers. The cold was like nothing I’ve felt, until I could no longer feel. I couldn’t even raise a hand to keep the ravens from picking out their eyes. They were waiting for me as well, I knew it. Marsac left me to their mercy. He _left_ me.”

Porthos reached for Aramis’ hand. “I know.”

He sensed Aramis just needed to speak.

“How could he leave me there? How could God leave me there? Why didn’t he take me? If he was kind he would have taken me.”

“No. If he had done that we would have one more brother to mourn, and twenty is enough.”

“But I don’t want to be here, Porthos. I can’t live with this, seeing it every time I close my eyes… I can’t sleep, my head hurts… I asked God. I asked…” Aramis bit his lip and closed his eyes, as if he were trying to hold something in. “I don’t think he’s listening. I don’t think he’s _there_.”

“He’s there if you believe.”

“I don’t. Not any more. No God could sanction that slaughter.”

Aramis pulled his rosary from beneath the covers and let it drop through his fingers to the floor.

“I am done with God, as he is done with me.”

“I know what it is to see things that make you doubt the presence of God.” Porthos had seen enough starving children and illnesses ravaging the old and weak. “I don’t know how you will find him again. But I’ve a feeling you will find him again. So I’ll keep a hold of this just in case.”

He picked up the rosary and put it safely inside a pocket.

“I don’t have any answers for you, Aramis. I don’t know why you were attacked. I don’t know why you were spared, and I don’t know why Marsac abandoned you. This isn’t going to be easy. I wish I could take it all away, but I can’t, and there’s nothing that I or anyone else can say to help. It is for you to find the strength to carry on. But when you falter, I’ll be here, I have strength enough for us both.”

Aramis gave a slight nod. It almost seemed as if he had run out of words.

“Lie back and try to sleep. It will help more than that damned tincture.”

Porthos helped Aramis to settle.

“I’ll see about getting us something to eat.”

Aramis’ hand shot out to snag his sleeve.

“Stay.” His fingers tightened. “Please.”

Porthos sat back down. “Alright, I’m not going anywhere.”

He stopped and watched Aramis drift off to a peaceful sleep.

And in time Aramis would come to see that God had sent him an angel after all.

One who faithfully kept his post.


End file.
